


The Mark of Cain

by Asdgafn



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Death, Fighting, I wrote it in like 30 mn, M/M, This is a bloody fight, Violence, idk what else, not canon, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asdgafn/pseuds/Asdgafn
Summary: Dean Winchester is finally consumed by the Mark of Cain. Castiel has to keep running. 
A small little thing I wrote in like 30 min. Based off of http://theaccidentalhero.tumblr.com/image/152993787725 
I didn't edit, so excuse errors. It's just a short and bloody little fight. Enjoy.





	

Castiel ran away. His feet pounded against the ground, his shoes scraped noisily when his foot didn’t quite lift high enough before he threw himself into the next step. His lungs ached with sharp, sharp pain in his too tight chest as he gasped in the too thin air. Black spots speckled his vision, a threat to drag him into oblivion if he didn’t stop. Every muscle screamed agony at him, begged him to cease, pleaded that he needed a break, no matter how small.

Yet he continued on. His arm shot out to brush the wall, it gave him just enough leverage to help him round a corner. For a split second his feet slid against the concrete, he almost fell, almost crashed in a full out sprawl. Then, with a thunderous crash, his wings snapped downwards to give him the balance to keep running away. His heart hammered at what felt like a million beats a minute, a small beast trapped inside his ribs, trying to escape.

Behind him, only barely heard through the roar in his ears, was laughter. A chilling voice echoed through the halls, it chased him as he ran, “Cass, come back. Cass? Don’t you want to sit down? We can have a beer and talk this through.” A taunting note edged the all too familiar voice, a confident smirk came to mind. And the angel ran even faster, urged on by pure fear. He had no grace to combat the corruption inside Dean Winchester, a demon turned by the Mark of Cain.

A dead end rose to meet him, unexpectedly emerging from the darkness that surrounded him. He snapped his wings downwards through the air, the resistance jerking him backwards, a successful way to pull him out of his sprint. He winced at the pain of broken feathers where his wings had scraped the walls that surrounded him. Cornered, he turned while pulling a blade free from his coat, hand clenched too tight around the handle. He had no choice now; it was fight or die.

Castiel waited with baited breath, body tensed in preparation to fight, knees loose as he watched the haunted hall before him. Soon, too soon, a red cloaked figure emerged through the darkness, strutted with confidence toward him. Dean Winchester, once a loved brother and dedicated hunter, now a vicious demon, the most ruthless of all. A predatory smile marked his face, slick with confidence as he slowly approached his trapped prey, angel blade held loose in his grasp. “Castiel.”

A moment before he drew too close, he stopped. Castiel’s still hammering heart skipped a beat at the sight of the man before him- no, the demon before him. He still wore Dean’s eyes; the one part of the hunter that Cass loved the most. They had been the key to Dean’s soul, two bright and beautiful orbs of a haunting green. When the sun shined just right, they paled to an almost gold yellow, a sight that taught the Angel what love truly was. Now? That familiar green was darkened with a taunt that said I won, He lost.

“Dean.” When he spoke, his voice was broken from his run, dragged against his hoarse throat in a croak. He coughed against his will, throat tightening with pain, his breath momentarily frozen before he gasped in new air. The Angel and the Demon stood there for a long moment, each one waited for the other to attack. One watched with desperation stained blue eyes, the other with a hate hardened green. Then a single pause, the barest tense of muscles, shattered the moment as Castiel launched forward.

The screech of metal against metal scored the air, angel blade against angel blade. Dean moved with unmatched swiftness, arm taut with tension before he threw Castiel aside. The Angel, grace stolen, rendered almost human, stumbled from the force of the throw. He bounced off the wall, wings flared for balance before he attacked again. They danced their way through the hallway, their blades crashed and clanged. The confinement kept the battle almost tamed, preventing one from gaining the upper hand against the other.

Blood from both splattered the ground. Dean bled from a wound above his eyes, the blood drained over his face to drip off his chin; he bled from a slice that marked him from wrist to elbow, it flicked drops with each swing of the arm. Castiel bled from a cut across his cheek that traced down to his jaw, to splash crimson against his collar. His skin wept red into his previously white shirt, a stomach wound where a stab almost stole away his life. Despite their life turning the dusty concrete red, they fought onwards.

They fought until Castiel’s blade bit deep into the flesh of Dean’s wrist, it severed the use of his hand in the flash of a moment. His blade clattered against the ground even as he was slammed into the wall, an arm pressed tight against his chest. The tip of the blade pressed against his throat, silver tip disappearing into the flushed skin. “Don’t make me kill you, Dean, we can fix you. Sam knows the cure,” Cass spoke in an almost whisper, his voice was a plea. “Don’t make me do this. Please.”

Maybe it was the please that did it. Something snapped inside Dean. His mouth parted with a vicious comment, another taunt or threat rested just on the tip of his tongue. Then he stopped, looked confused as his tongue darted out to wet his too dry lips. He worked his jaw with the uncertainty, his body tensed. A growl started in his chest but died in his throat, barely uttered. But it wasn’t those signs that alerted Castiel to the change. No. It was his eyes as he blinked hard. They had turned to that almost gold yellow that he loved; the harder colour erased as Dean’s eyes darted side to side with each furious blink.

“Cass?” Dean’s voice had softened, it came out choked and lost. “Oh god, Cass.” Tears sprung in his eyes at the sweet sound of that nickname. Castiel let his arm and blade drop as his cheeks burned with the sting of fallen tears. They were mirrored in the same wet tracks that trailed down Dean’s face as he raised a hand. His roughened fingers gently cupped Castiel’s cheek, stroking away half dried blood. “I’m sorry, Cass.”

Dean pulled the angel close, their lips crashed together as he forcefully kissed him. The salt of their tears and the iron of their blood stained the kiss. Castiel tensed with surprise at the unexpected movement, arms loose against his side. Then with a clink of their teeth, he seemed to wake and he pressed back, hard. Their lips bruised with the force of the desperation, Dean’s fingers slipped down to dig into Castiel’s shoulders. He never even felt the gentle tug that freed the angel blade from his numb hand.

But he did feel the cold of the blade as it slid smoothly into his heart, angled up to avoid his ribs. He felt the tension melt away in his knees as he fell, one hand reaching to bury itself in the blood stained clothing of the hunter. Shock dulled the pain as his heart struggled to beat around the icy metal buried into the muscle, blood oozing in a red rose through his shirt. He felt his wings as they sagged against his back, feathers brushing the floor. The dark laughter of the demon floated through a haze, barely reaching his ears. Castiel used the last of his failing strength to shakily raise his arm. His hand pressed against Dean’s eyes, hiding the utter black that had destroyed the green he loved. Then the angel’s lungs sighed free his last breath, limp body tumbling sideways to slump against the concrete.

And Dean just laughed. He pulled the blade free from the still warm flesh of the angel. He wiped it clean on his coat, turned even more of the tan fabric red. He leaned down just enough to spit in the sightless blue eyes that stared at nothing, death freezing them wide with shock. Then he turned and walked away, darkness enveloping him until he seemingly disappeared into the shadows. The Mark of Cain claimed its victim, it shredded the last of the humanity inside Dean Winchester.


End file.
